


sending your head spinning

by owlsshadows



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Concussions, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsshadows/pseuds/owlsshadows
Summary: Futakuchi Kenji is aware that he can be a pain in the ass, still, sometimes he feels that the price he pays for being a bratty kouhai is way out of proportion. To start off with, he has been always a diligent kid. He never skipped practice, and while it is true that some days his mouth ran more than his feet, he did contribute considerably to Datekou’s famed Iron Wall.He doesn’t deserve this.Alternatively, this is a story in which Koganegawa is terrible at blocking, Futakuchi gets a concussion and Aone feels guilty... and maybe other things too.





	sending your head spinning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avocadoatlaww](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadoatlaww/gifts).



> GO GO LET'S GO LET'S GO DATEKOU!

Aone Takanobu is of notable size yet he is nimble and fast defying all stereotypes and making him an exceptional middle blocker. Naturally, he is aware of his size – if not for the first years fleeing from the corridors which he walks, then for the third years doing the same, for the stifled curses of the opponent spikers when he appears in their field of vision or the high-pitched shrieks of managers of other teams after bumping into him during tournaments. Of course, he is fast too – he is to be there, before anyone, straight on towering in front of the dominant hand of the opposing spiker, like the vanguard of Datekou’s fort, the forefront of their famed wall of defense – and he takes pride in his role. It is an achievement he worked hard for, the result of long hours of strenuous practice, the meeting point of his natural skills and hard earned experience. The wall of Datekou, the perfect blocks, that is the legacy of Futakuchi and him. That is what, once a third year, Aone plans to teach to their new coming first years.

Yet, from time to time, even the finest machinery can have a lose screw getting caught between the gears and tearing it apart from the inside – the chink in their armor being Koganegawa, their brand new setter this time. As many times as it can happen, the gangly first year jumps sideways; guided by sheer panic and inexperience he tries to swim across thin air rather than taking that extra step which could help him jump up, high and strong.

Aone, already in the air and ready to block the path of a cross from Karasuno’s bald guy, gets hit mid-air and the powers of physics push him further down along the net like a ragdoll, helplessly crashing into his captain who synchronized his jump to his. Aone’s elbow hits Futakuchi in the temple of his head and they both fall, Aone on top of his lanky captain. Futakuchi’s cry of pain is muffled by the victorious shouts of Karasuno and Koganegawa’s shriek of apology – it is only heard by Aone, laying atop his captain.

And suddenly, Aone is way too aware of his height, weight, position. He jumps up, flustered if not a little panicked, ready to run to the infirmary with his captain in his hands if needed, but Futakuchi is alright, standing up on his own albeit massaging the side of his head painfully.

“Kenji, are you alright?” comes the question from their manager, Nametsu Mai, the only ever girl who did not feel intimidated by Aone at first but greeted him with a smile like any other human being – well, she did say that her older brother, an alumnus of Datekou, was even bigger and more mean-looking, Aone still appreciated the gesture.

“Yeah, just fine,” Futakuchi replies, but he has a slight sway in the way he stands. And Aone is, above all, observant – there is no other way to be good at read blocking – so he sees it before it happens; Futakuchi losing his balance despite the cocky smile he sent towards their manager.

Aone is big and heavy, but he is also fast – he catches Futakuchi with one hand before he falls, straightens him up and holds him there by the collar of his volleyball jersey.

“Oy!”

“Captain!”

“Futakuchi-senpai!”

The cries of their teammates are on a varying scale from surprised to worried to outright screaming in the case of Koganegawa, and Futakuchi hisses at the harsh sound beside Aone.

“He might have a concussion,” Aone realizes, turning towards their coach. “I hit his head when we collided.”

“I have no concussion, I’m perfectly fine–” Futakuchi fights himself free, only to take two wobbly steps before he grabs onto the net for support. “I’m just a little dizzy.”

The next second he winces, and for a moment his entire body shakes as if he was to barf all over the gymnasium.

“It seems serious,” Aone hears Karasuno’s captain, and he spares a glance at the other side of the court. Beside the captain, the blond glasses boy and bald guy stand in the front row, the mirth of victory long gone from the face of the last one to be replaced with the expression of honest worry. Aone remembers faintly that during the Spring Inter-high preliminaries, bald guy had some kind of collision with their captain – and as their eyes connect for a split moment, he can see the empathy and understanding of the other.

Then the moment is over, just as fast as it came by, and Coach Oiwake’s voice fills the gymnasium.

“Futakuchi, come with me,” he orders, stepping close and hooking Futakuchi’s arm over his shoulder. “We have to take you to a hospital.”

“If you need any help–” comes from the side of Karasuno, and their young coach steps closer.

“No worries, Ukai-kun,” Oiwake says, walking slowly off the court with Futakuchi. “We will manage. However, I must leave the kids in your care.”

“Understood.”

“We take my car,” Oiwake continues, “Aone, you come too. Obara, you take over here. Don’t you dare to lose to Karasuno now. Show them that our wall is more than just Aone.”

“Aye!” the buzz cut second year mumbles, earning a supportive pat on the shoulder by Onagawa.

“Nametsu, make them work hard and clean up afterwards,” Oiwake says then, leaving the court.

Aone follows the coach closely, unsure whether his support is needed or not. He could easily carry Futakuchi – he did it once back in their first year when Futakuchi caught a bad cold but refused to admit it and simply fainted in the middle of practice. He might have grown a few centimeters and gained a few kilograms, but he is still Futakuchi, a tall but lanky guy, and Aone finds that the only thing that made it difficult to carry him in first place was his struggle to be put down. Futakuchi now seems awfully silent, uncharacteristically so, and Aone’s brain frantically tries to find a solution that sounds against him having a concussion; except for all his symptoms are pretty straightforward.

“Oy, Aone, don’t space out, here,” Oiwake huffs, and hands Futakuchi over to Aone. “I’ll drop by the teachers’ office really quick to pick up my keys, can you two go ahead to the car? You know which is my car, right? Big, white, very dirty?”

Aone nods, twining his arm under Futakuchi’s shoulder to hold him by his waist. He watches the coach disappear in the corridor leading to the staff room. He doesn’t even notice he has been holding his breath until he hears a heavy sigh from his beside, reminding him to breathe. He takes a sharp inhale, glancing down to Futakuchi who slumps into his side as an old and tattered tatami mat.

Aone sweeps the hair out of Futakuchi’s face, nudging his captain to assess his capability to walk out to the parking lot.

Futakuchi gives out a second sigh, shorter and noisier than the first one, almost like a whimper. That, along with the weight squirming against his side, makes Aone feel all fuzzy inside.

“I can carry you,” he offers.

Futakuchi groans and leans his head against Aone’s shoulder. “I’m fine as long as my head is not moving,” comes the first coherent sentence from him after a while. “This angle is good; the world doesn’t spin that much.”

“Hn,” Aone nods, laying his free hand on top of Futakuchi’s face to still it over his shoulder. Then, ever so slowly, he starts walking towards the exit.

They make it halfway by the time Futakuchi speaks again.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?”

Aone stops, face turning towards Futakuchi by his side. He doesn’t know what to say to this.

Of course, he feels guilty. He knows just as well as everyone else that their collision was unavoidable; as long as he has no wings, he can’t modify his course mid-air. But if he positioned his arm inwards after the crash, his elbow wouldn’t have hit Futakuchi. If he was someone of average built, like Onagawa, their collision would’ve ended with Futakuchi laughing it off and resuming the game.

But due to his size…

“Oy. Aone.” Futakuchi pokes his elbow in between Aone’s ribs. “I asked something.”

“Hn.”

“I asked you to stop fretting over it. Did you hear me at all?”

“Hn.”

“I doubt it. You seemed to be totally lost in your thoughts.”

And there it is, the fuzzy feeling again, tugging at his heart. Only a handful of people can read his face as well as Futakuchi, and most of them belong to his close family. And yet this guy manages to see through him even when he feels dizzy and sick from a concussion.

“It was not your fault,” Futakuchi says, sneaking his arm under around him to pull Aone into a half hug. “Your block was perfect as usual. If only Koganegawa would learn…”

“I could’ve been more careful.”

“Now, you barely open your mouth and this is what comes out of it when you do?” Futakuchi raises his head to send a strict look towards Aone, but halfway it turns into a grimace, and he decides to lean back on Aone’s shoulder. “So, where is that damn car?”

Aone pats the head over his shoulder softly, before leaving it temporarily to point at the far end of the parking lot.

“There.”

“Ugh,” Futakuchi comments. “Of course, if Oiwake just arrived in time, he would have a good space nearby the exits, but he has to arrive long after all the teachers–”

“Shh,” Aone says, planting his hand over Futakuchi’s lips. As glad as he feels for his captain to finally regain his usual talkative demeanor some dub annoying, he still worries that Futakuchi overexerts himself with too much speaking.

“This is no good,” Futakuchi peels the hand off. “Cutting the air, breathing feels hard,” he explains.

Aone’s hand gets planted back to the top of Futakuchi’s head without further commentary, and they walk the rest of the distance between them and the car in silence.

It really is just as Coach Oiwake described it: big, white, and dirty to the core. Its bumpers are muddy, the plate is barely readable, through the windows moreover Aone can see the heaps of plastic bottles stacked up in the front passenger seat.

“God,” Futakuchi comments. “What a slob.”

Oiwake arrives just in the right moment to hear his comment. “Criticizing your coach, huh?” he barks, but there is no edge to his words. He unlocks the car, opening the back door for them. “I guess it would be best if both of you sit in the back, in case something happens…”

“And not because the front seat is inaccessible, not at all,” Futakuchi says.

“Good to see your sarcasm is back, boy,” Oiwake replies, shoving them towards the seats, “but don’t forget your place.”

Aone decides for all of them that it’s easier if he sits in first, helping Futakuchi from the inside if needed. His captain, however, seems to be in a much better shape than before, and has no difficulty slumping down to the seat on his own. As he lands next to Aone, their thighs press up against each other, and Aone jumps back further into the other seat.

“I’m fine,” Futakuchi murmurs to him, patting his legs reassuringly.

“Everything OK at the back?” Oiwake asks, starting the engine.

“Little cramped here in the back, for sure, for big guys like us,” Futakuchi replies, smiling then wincing immediately, turning his head the way it was and leaning it on Aone’s shoulder. “I think I might get dizzy though.”

“Worth holding onto this, then,” says their coach, shuffling around and handing Futakuchi a plastic bag.

Aone takes it for him, and holds it right between them, opening it properly for easy access.

“Thanks,” Futakuchi says, and groans as soon as the car turns on to the main road.

“That bad?” Aone asks, voice barely audible.

“We have a wonderful journey ahead,” Futakuchi replies.

 

***

 

Futakuchi Kenji knows that he is not the most likeable person in the country. He is aware that he can be a pain in the ass, still, sometimes he feels that the price he pays for being a bratty kouhai is way out of proportion. To start off with, he has been always a diligent kid. He never skipped practice, and while it is true that some days his mouth ran more than his feet, he did contribute considerably to Datekou’s famed Iron Wall.

He doesn’t deserve this.

The trip to the hospital still feels like torture to his head, throbbing pain building up alongside nausea at every turn the car takes. By the time they arrive and Aone helps him out of the car, he is almost entirely sure that Kamasaki cursed him. Maybe the sole existence of Koganegawa is the result of some dark magic aimed to bring Futakuchi down.

He barfs a few steps away from the front door.

It’s so disgraceful.

“Oh my god,” he grumbles. “I’m so sorry.”

“Most probably it’s a concussion,” Oiwake says to someone new, probably a doctor – Futakuchi is too busy keeping the rest of his lunch in his stomach to have noticed her arrival.

“Volleyball club, huh?” the doctor asks.

“We crashed,” Aone adds. “During practice.”

Futakuchi is helped into a chair and pulled in to a room, where someone asks him whether he can climb into the bed by himself. He nods, regrets moving his head, and mounts the bed with the dexterity of a toddler on their first try.

“We will take an MRI soon,” the doctor says. “Please stay here until the paperwork related to your registration is done.

“I will,” Futakuchi assures, and honestly, he feels no inclination to wander off. Ever since he escaped Coach Oiwake’s hellcar, his head’s been spinning, and the world doesn’t stop turning around him even as he lies down. Closing his eyes doesn’t help either. “Can I get a bucket though?”

“If you feel like vomiting again, use that container by your side,” the doctor replies. She is cute. If Futakuchi didn’t feel as hellish as he does, he might try to flirt with her.

But he feels tragically bad, so bad that he has no witty comeback when the coach says something about getting them drinks – so bad that he’s totally unaware when the two adults left the room, and he just realizes that he has been left with Aone suddenly, when the big guy walks up to his bed, pushing a chair by his side and sitting down.

It takes Futakuchi a second or so to focus on his teammate, but as soon as his eyes lock with Aone’s the world stops spinning. It feels like a miracle – as if Aone had some mysterious healing powers over him, and Futakuchi is eternally grateful for his presence, even if Aone has witnessed his most ungraceful moment of puking in front of the hospital.

Silence settles between them; a familiar phenomenon when one is left with Aone alone. Futakuchi has never felt that this silence would be uncomfortable though – surely, he himself is talkative enough for the both of them, and mostly unbothered by the fact that he needs to carry the conversation for the both of them – but most of the cases, he doesn’t even feel the need to say anything.

Spending some silent time with Aone is just fine. It feels like pausing a lengthy film for a while, to take a breather, a gulp of fresh air amidst the chaos that comes with captaincy.

Aone is always there for him when he needs someone to lean onto; he helps Futakuchi carry something if it’s heavy, he brings him a bottle of water when Futakuchi forgets to drink during practice and he silently tolerates when Futakuchi shamelessly uses his shoulder as pillow on the train. Now, that he thinks about it, Futakuchi realizes that Aone might be his best friend. If someone asked about it, Aone would surely come to his mind first, before the classmates he goofs off with or the friends he has from middle school; even before Nametsu Mai, his dependable childhood friend and manager.

Because Aone is always by his side, no matter how dumb he acts or how much bullshit he speaks. Because Aone glares at him if he oversteps his boundaries, but never teases him when he tries his best in earnest. Because Aone supports him, where everyone else just kind of assumes he can do everything on his own.

Because Aone knows, even without words, when Futakuchi feels lost.

Glancing up at the middle blocker towering over his hospital bed, Futakuchi gets all fond and giddy, smiling gleefully at Aone. It might not suit his face, though, as Aone leans in closer, examining his face with caution.

“How are you?” Aone asks.

“Terrible,” Futakuchi replies, smile never disappearing from his face. “I feel dizzy and nauseous and I can’t focus long enough to make a mental list of sophisticated ways to torture Koganegawa at practice.”

“Hm,” Aone replies, placing a hand on Futakuchi’s head.

“Really, he needs to get better and fast,” Futakuchi says and he tries to fight the urge to sink his face deeper into the warmth that is Aone’s palm, but fails, instincts stronger than his pride.

There comes another silence, comfortable but not too long.

“I’m sorry,” Aone says. The apology is barely audible – his volume being inversely proportional to the size of his body – but Futakuchi hears it.

“No worries,” he smiles up at Aone, and the soft smile he receives from Aone in reply is brighter than the sun shining through the windows. “I’m not that brittle,” Futakuchi says, and he lifts a hand to plaster it over Aone’s cheek. “Anyways, it was not your fault.”

His thumb strokes Aone’s face on its own, caressing the smooth skin gently. His fingers find their way around Aone’s ear on their own too, sinking into the light, frizzy hair.

Futakuchi doesn’t need to pull or tug, for Aone reads his thoughts as he always does, closing the distance between them with agility and nimbleness unlike his size. For such a big, sturdy boy, Aone has surprisingly soft lips.

 

***

 

When the doctor returns to take Futakuchi to the MRI and advises Aone to go home, saying that Futakuchi will most likely be staying for the night, just to make sure that everything is fine, Aone finds himself wandering out to the corridor aimlessly. The world spins and twists around him as if it was him who got the concussion and not Futakuchi, and he raises a hand to his lips in awe.

His first kiss was nothing but a peck – barely a brush of lips, a strange moment that smell of sweat and puke, yet it felt so… natural. So comfortable. As if it has been an extension of all those times they spent in silence; as if it hasn’t been anything new, but something that has always been between them, even if they have never done it before.

Aone finds Coach Oiwake by the vending machines, chatting with a nurse he seems to know from before – they talk about their kids, so Aone assumes they might be parents of children attending the same school.

“Aone!” the coach calls out to him when he spots him, and Aone does his best impression of unfazed – though he doubts that anyone other than Futakuchi could read his face in general. “Need a ride home?”

Aone shakes his head.

“Thank you for your help today, then,” Oiwake says. “See you tomorrow at morning practice. Don’t be late!”

“Aye,” Aone says, bowing goodbye, and turns down the corridor towards the entrance.

He is already sitting on the train heading home, and he can barely recall the walk to the station at all, when his phone buzzes, dragging him out of his trance.

[Futakuchi]: They said I have to stay the night at the hospital

[Futakuchi]: Have you ever needed to sleep at a hospital before?

[Aone]: ❌

[Futakuchi]: This will be the first time for me too

[Futakuchi]: Many firsts in one day, I guess (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)”

Aone blinks at his phone screen, surprised how successful a few words can be in elevating his heart rate.

[Futakuchi]: Hey

[Futakuchi]: Say

[Futakuchi]: Would you mind repeating it?

[Futakuchi]: I mean the kiss, not the concussion

[Futakuchi]: I kinda want to do it again

[Aone]: 😳

[Aone]: 👍

[Futakuchi]: Really?

[Aone]: 👍

[Futakuchi]: I wonder…

[Aone]: ?

[Futakuchi]: … does this makes us boyfriends?

[Futakuchi]: Kissing is not something best friends do, right?

Embarrassed, Aone looks up from his phone for a second, only to notice that it is his stop. He jumps up and hops off the train just before the doors could close. When he glances back to the screen, a new message awaits.

[Futakuchi]: Would you mind trying it? Being boyfriends?

Aone can feel his face heat up. His finger hovers over the send button for a while.

Pressing down feels like the biggest step he has taken in his life.

[Aone]: 👍

[Futakuchi]: (´｡• ᴗ •｡`) ♡

[Futakuchi]: I’ll be in your care!

[Aone]: 😳

[Futakuchi]: After I get released from the hospital, I will visit practice.

[Futakuchi]: So

[Futakuchi]: See you tomorrow afternoon, I guess?

[Aone]: 👍

[Futakuchi]: Boyfriend

[Futakuchi]: Gosh

[Futakuchi]: I’m looking forward to it (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)୨

[Futakuchi]: Practice too

[Futakuchi]: Kissing too

Aone, who usually doesn’t abuse the emojis, sends a line of blushing smileys, and holds his phone to his heart before he types out his next message.

[Aone]: Me too.


End file.
